She took it, confused. Then her eyes fell on the handwriting.
It was her own.
“What is this?” Her gaze dropped to the date.
Nine years ago.
The room tilted.
She knew this letter. Knew every word. She had written it with a bruised soul and a bleeding heart and had wept over every line.
“Why do you have this?” Her voice came out strangled.
“Is it yours?”
She nodded mutely, turning it over in trembling hands. There was her signature. “But how? Why now?”
His face had gone from pale to ashen. He shot to his feet, paced to the window and back, raked both hands through his hair. He seized the letter from her and read it again. His mouth opened. Closed. His jaw worked.
“Is it true?” The words finally tore from him.
“I don’t understand.” Viola pressed her fingers to her temples. They had begun to throb. “This letter is nine years old.”
He stared at her as though she were speaking a foreign tongue. Then he strode to the door and yanked the bell pull so violently that she thought it might tear.
The butler appeared within moments.
“This letter.” Sebastian’s voice was clipped. “Was it delivered just now?”
“Indeed, sir. It arrived with the morning post.”
“That’s impossible.” Viola rose from her chair, gripping the table edge, for the room swayed slightly. “I wrote this nine years ago. Scottish post cannot be that slow.” She turned to Sebastian. “You answered it. I have never forgotten your reply.”
Confusion flickered across his face. “I have never seen this letter before in my life. I could not have answered what I never received.”
“But you did.” Her voice turned hard.
The butler cleared his throat delicately. “If I may, my lady. Yesterday’s papers reported several mailbags were discovered in a postmaster’s cellar in Edinburgh after his death. Some accident years ago, it seems. The bags were never delivered. The letters have only now been sent on.” He paused. “It appears you were among those affected.”
There was silence as they processed that information.
“Thank you, Falks.”
The butler withdrew with a quiet click of the door.
The silence that fell was absolute.
Viola stared at the letter. At the date. At her own desperate handwriting. A lost, undelivered letter.
All this time. He had never known.
Surely, fate could not be that cruel?
Sebastian sank into his chair. When he looked up, his eyes burned into hers.
“You were with child.”
The words hung between them.
